Keepsake
by Mendeia
Summary: Oneshot. Sometimes the reminder of a journey is more difficult to face than the journey's end itself.


Technically this is sort of a one-shot epilogue to my now-finished "Resonance," a crossover with Godzilla: The Series as reimaged in Macx's "Deep Water." (Confusing enough?) But I wrote it to be deliberately non-spoilery for that story and, actually, I think it can stand on its own. Place it a little while after the "Good Genes" arc and I think it works just fine too.

I don't own the TMNT, nor did I own Godzilla and company, but I just can't quite walk away from this story yet. Still not making any money or fame here, and not minding one bit!

Enjoy!

* * *

"Yes, it's the old one. No, I can't wear it anymore. Yes, I'm keeping it anyway."

Donatello didn't even turn around to see Leo's expression – he could feel it in the back of his neck. He fixed his eyes on the screen before him, allowing the soothing engineering work before him to run through his mind rather than the images his brother's innocent question had summoned.

"Don, I'm sorry. I didn't know you were so touchy about it," Leo said after a short silence. He dropped his hand from where he'd been reaching for the strip of purple material that adorned one of his brother's many computer monitors like a streamer.

"Don't worry about it," the genius replied, sighing. "It's just…everybody's asked me the same question ever since I put it there, and it's getting kind of old, you know?" He waved at a mostly-cleared chair nearby. "Ask me for real and I'll tell you."

"Well," the blue-banded leader sat slowly in the offered seat, trying not to bang his knees on the nearby pile of cement blocks serving who-knew-what purpose, "you've got to admit, it's a little creepy. I mean, it's your mask, Donnie."

"It used to be my mask. If you hadn't noticed, I've got a new one." But there was no sarcasm or annoyance in his tone now, only wry amusement.

"I know. But, since you said I could ask, why are you keeping it? And, out of curiosity, who else asked about it?"

"The better question would be who didn't ask about it? Mikey, Raph, Master Splinter, April, even Casey wanted to know why it was there. I'm just surprised that you waited so long," Don smiled.

"Oh." Leonardo didn't know what to say. He certainly wasn't going to admit that, until today, he hadn't noticed the torn mask adorning the workstation Donatello called his second home. It wasn't that he hadn't been paying attention, just that he'd had a lot on his mind. That, and he was about the only one of their family who didn't routinely sneak into Don's lab without permission, besides Master Splinter, of course.

"As to your first question, why I'm keeping it, I have kind of a long answer," the olive-skinned turtle continued. "But the short version is that I wanted it. It's a reminder, Leo, of what can happen when I let my guard down. Of what sort of risk to our family I might be. And most importantly," he met his brother's increasingly-concerned face with a warm expression, "of how hard my family will work to help me when I'm in trouble. It's because of you guys that I needed a new mask at all, you know."

"Donnie," Leo breathed, reaching out and putting a hand on his brother's forearm, "you're not a risk to us."

"Sure I am," he returned a little too quickly, "more than anybody else. It's my brain that gets us into so much trouble, you know."

"And gets us OUT of a lot more trouble."

"Anyway, me and my guilt issues are not the topic here," Don waved his words off. "The point is that I'm keeping the old mask to remind me that I have a new one." Studying his older brother's face, he asked, "Why does it bother you guys so much that I'm keeping it?"

"I don't know."

"The fearless leader doesn't know? That's a first," Donatello teased. But he also knew Leo well enough to know to wait, that he'd have an answer after he'd given his brother a few moments to consider.

"I guess…it's a reminder to us of what you went through, Don. It reminds me of Bishop and of thinking I might lose you and not knowing what to do about it. It reminds me of being powerless to help you, and even worse, of feeling like it was my fault you got caught up in all that in the first place." Leonardo met his brother's eyes with pain. "It might be a reminder to you that we're there for you, but it reminds me that we weren't."

"I see," Don said softly. He picked up the offending article and held it gently, running his fingers over the familiar material. The bandana itself was still mostly intact, severed at the back near the knot, and it had begun to fray. There were also tiny spots of blood evident, from fights just before he'd lost it, and from the moment it had been taken from him.

"Don, if it makes you feel better, keep it," Leo sighed after a minute. "You deserve that much, bro. I'm sorry it reminds me of failure. I'll try not to let it bother me."

"I…" the purple-clad turtle hesitated, then spoke a little more gently, "I don't want it to bother you guys. And it reminds me of failure, too, my own failure to take care of things." Before his brother could argue, he held up a hand. "And no matter what you say, at least some of what happened is my fault. I know I could have avoided it somehow, if I'd considered the problem from all angles. I just didn't. There was too much going on and I didn't keep up with it fast enough. I can't let myself get pinned into a course of action that's so very dangerous to us all without putting up a better fight first. And I need to know that."

Don pinned his brother with a firm gaze. "And so do you, Leo."

"What?"

"We all made mistakes letting this happen. And a lot of it wasn't our fault – it was Bishop's. But we can't miscalculate like that again, 'cause we might not get so lucky next time. I have to remember it, everything that happened, the good parts and the bad parts, so I don't repeat things later. I have to remember what I did wrong, and I have to know that if I do it wrong again, you'll be there. I need all of it."

"You're right, of course," the elder turtle deflated a little in his chair. "The experience means nothing if we don't learn from it."

"Exactly."

"Not that I'll ever really believe blame you for things, of course. And that's a pretty harsh light of perspective you're shining on us, though," Leo shook his head ruefully.

"Welcome to the world of science and psychology," Don replied.

"Then I'll make you a deal," Leo stood. "We'll learn from this all right. Together." He scooped up the torn mask and strode out of the lab and into the living room, Donatello following at his heels wonderingly. Moving past Raph, who was busy shouting at Mikey, and past Master Splinter, who watched with a rather sage and smug expression, he entered the dojo.

With one smooth motion, Leonardo flung the mask into the air, then tossed two of the older, less-used shuriken after it. They pinned it neatly to the wall above the scrolls that spoke of the rules of battle, of honor and courage and the way of Bushido. Spread out there like a banner, every inch of the mask stood out in stark relief – its harsh cut, the blood, even a few nearly invisible stains from what might have been tears.

"Leo…" Donatello began, unsure.

"You're right," the leader replied, raising his voice to be heard by the others who had gathered near at his determined attitude. "We need to learn from this experience, all of us. What we did right, what we did wrong, and what we should expect going forward. I know I'd rather forget the whole thing, but I can't, I shouldn't, and neither should any of you. I want us to look at Don's mask every day and remember what we need to do differently so there's never a next time."

Leonardo swallowed a lump in his throat, then turned to his gentlest brother and smiled.

"And also so we remember what we almost lost, so we never forget what it feels like when you aren't around, Donnie."

The purple-clad turtle squirmed at the sudden attention, his face getting hot, but he managed a smile at Leo, and at the others behind him. After everything he'd been through, there was nothing like knowing that his family had his shell no matter what scrape he got himself into. There was nothing like the certainty that his family would turn the earth to rubble for his sake, just as he would for any of them.

He couldn't say anything close to what that feeling meant to him, but he didn't have to – they already knew. They told him by their determination and loyalty and quirky ways of expressing worry. They told him by their scars gained in his defense.

All he could do was bow before them all and whisper, from the depths of his heart, "Thank you."


End file.
